


Remembrance

by TheGameIsOn_Geronimo



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: And he loves Arthur a lot, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically just one line, But like very very briefly, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Merlin (Merlin), Immortality, M/M, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Reincarnation, Resurrection, Suicidal Thoughts, merlin's sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 15:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18524284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGameIsOn_Geronimo/pseuds/TheGameIsOn_Geronimo
Summary: Protected spirits sometimes wander and experience new and different lives, with no recollection of their past ones. Merlin keeps meeting Arthur while he's waiting for him to rise from the Lake of Avalon.





	Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm really not sure where this fic came from - I had a vague idea, and then suddenly I had written 3,000 words - I'm going to blame general stress and tiredness, as really these 3,000 words would have been much more productive if they'd gone into university work. Oh well!  
> I have vaguely proof read it, so any mistakes are my own, and if you see any feel free to point them out to me!  
> Enjoy! :)

The thing about spirits, Merlin realises very quickly, is even if they’re kept safe somewhere, parts of them leak out. They flow like rivers over pebbles, leaching out into the surrounding environment. It’s usually the physical characteristics, the ones more easily imprinted onto someone. The traits are harder to replicate, and the memories even more so.

 

***

 

He realises it years after the worst day of his life. After years of kneeling in the cool mud on the lakeside. Years of barely breathing, barely being present to the world around him. Years of being _alone._ But he pulls himself up, forces food down his throat. He keeps on going, and he’s so proud of himself for that. He wanders into a nearby town one day, bag slung over his shoulder, looking to buy some fresh bread, or some herbs. A boy runs into him on the street, and glances up at him in surprise with eyes that he _knows_. Wide, and blue, and glorious, and far far too young. Eyes that he had seen creased in pain, crinkled in laughter, or widened in fear. Eyes that he would have been happy to stare into forever. And in this child’s face, they’re wrong. _Wrong wrong wrong._ And they don’t flash with recognition, or brighten with surprise. Instead they are slightly wary, and innocent, and the boy simply says ‘sorry’, and continues running down the street. Merlin thinks he feels his heart break again there and then, and has to stop himself from falling onto his knees and sobbing. Instead, he runs back to the lake, splashes into the shallows, and lets the water soak his trousers when his legs fail to hold him upright.

 

***

 

It’s over a decade after that when Merlin sees him again. He’s wandering along the lonely road, pulling a small cart of his wares to the next town over, and he sees him out of the corner of his eye. A flash of gold, a hint of red. He glances back over his shoulder as a reflex, and stops dead in the middle of the path. There, framed by the setting sun is Arthur. He’s ploughing the field, soft red cotton shirt soaked with sweat. He’s the most beautiful thing Merlin has ever seen, and before he knows it he’s running to the fence surrounding the field’s edge, flinging himself over it.

‘ARTHUR!’ He cries desperately, willing his legs to move quicker, wondering how he could have missed him coming back. Shouldn’t his magic have alerted him? Shouldn’t he have _known_? So he could _be there_. But here Arthur was, now standing upright and looking towards the raven-haired maniac sprinting towards him. And Merlin skids to a halt in front of him, and can only breathe out Arthur’s name. Arthur’s reply is:

‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’ And Merlin’s world shatters.

 

***

 

It works like this. Arthur’s soul, kept in the Lake of Avalon until it’s time for Arthur to rise again, sometimes decides to go wandering. Merlin quickly decides that this is because Arthur is an arrogant pig, and in the afterlife clearly doesn’t care that Merlin has a heart attack every time he sees blonde hair and blue eyes. It means that throughout time there are people that look like him, talk like him, generally act like him, but crucially, do not remember any of the lives beforehand. Seeing them hurts like hell, like he’s cutting himself open and rubbing salt into the wounds. For a few centuries, Merlin actively tries to avoid them whenever he runs into them, but overtime the wounds scar. He yearns for Arthur’s voice, his kind eyes, his smile. He needs Arthur like he needs oxygen, and so when he finds them he doesn’t run anymore.

 

He befriends the innkeeper in London who has Arthur’s laugh. They exchange stories of battles, and murmur the rumours of riders from Normandy reaching the coast. Merlin has never seen Arthur scrub tables before, and if he spills lightly more of his ale than he should, well who could blame him - Arthur had watched Merlin undertake hours of back-breaking work without batting an eyelid.

 

He meets a blacksmith on his travels with Arthur’s strong hands, beating out the metal to the way he wants it. Merlin leans on the wall surrounding the forge and grins, which makes Arthur grin back. That Arthur has a wife, and two children, but always has time for the strange thin man who stops for a chat when he passes through.

 

When Merlin ventures to the Holy Land, he meets Arthur in a temple, decked in simple clothes and with eyes full of wisdom. That Arthur looks at him as though he is a puzzle to crack, and when he’s ready to leave for home, Arthur’s parting words are: ‘I think you are something more than you let on’. Merlin doesn’t know how to reply to that.

 

He meets Arthur as a baby, when he helps deliver the child in a small village. He wraps the babe in rags, and sees Arthur’s eyes shining up at him. ‘What will you call him?’ he asks the tired mother. 

‘Oh, Arthur I think,’ she replies, ‘The name of the Lionheart.’ Merlin smiles, and lets the child grip his finger in his tiny fist, and then Merlin leaves him to grow on his own.

 

When Merlin decides to settle down a bit, and opens his own tavern, one of his regulars is Arthur. They chat about mindless gossip, while Arthur drinks far too much. When his eyes are hazy and bloodshot, he points at Merlin and says, ‘you remind me of someone I once knew.’ Merlin continues polishing the flask he’s holding, but his hands start trembling, and his heart starts pounding.

‘Who?’ he asks curiously, and Arthur blinks slowly, swaying slightly in his seat, with his lips pursed, and says, ‘I’m not sure… maybe a friend.’ He drains the rest of his mead, and stumbles out of the building, leaving Merlin with the ache of loss settling into his stomach.

 

***

 

In some lives they are only strangers. They meet once and never see each other again. One time, Arthur punches Merlin in the face for smiling at his girlfriend. In another, a teenager finds Merlin in the woods, looking for the wise old man who lives forever, and scarpers home when Merlin spots him. Merlin sees him in the household of a visiting noble when he’s working as a servant again, just a flash of him as a cloak swishes behind him as he rounds the corner. Sometimes they meet on opposite sides of a battlefield, catching a glimpse of the other’s gaze through the visor of a helmet. Merlin staggers away from those moments with his whole body shaking, and bile rising in his throat.

 

***

 

It is the lives in which they get closer that Merlin starts to live for. His motivation for plodding onwards on this twisting path of life, for moving forwards as civilisations grow and die around him.

 

He becomes a physician in London, and Arthur gets sent to be his apprentice. Merlin watches him grow, sees the same lines of determination spread across his face, sees the same handwriting written onto parchment. Merlin acts like his father – as Gaius once did for him – and watches him turn into a man. He lets himself ruffle Arthur’s hair, and when Arthur heads off to a nearby village they grasp each other’s hands firmly in a handshake, until Arthur pulls him into his arms, and says ‘Thank you, I couldn’t have learnt all of this without you.’ Merlin suddenly wishes he could rewind time, and say the same things to his guardian and his mother. Part of his broken heart belongs to them – he should never have disappeared the way he did, he should have been there for them. He must have caused them so much pain.

 

They become best friends in another life, two farmhands bemoaning the state of the royals and struggling through each harvest. They joke with each other and check up on each other every morning. Merlin attends Arthur’s wedding, and is their when their daughter is born. He is also there when Arthur says, ‘I think I’m going mad.’

Merlin asks, ‘Why?’, and Arthur simply replies, ‘Because I’m attracted to men.’

It is a whispered confession, spoken into the darkness and silence, and Merlin doesn’t really know what to say except for, ‘You’re not going mad.’ He pulls Arthur into his arms and holds onto him tightly.

 

***

 

In some years they absolutely despise each other, obviously because Arthur is a _rude and arrogant idiot_ that Merlin would really like to give a piece of his mind to, although even a piece of his mind would be too good for Arthur. They’re both bakers in a bustling city at one point, and they have petty squabbles over who can come up with the best new pastry flavour. In those times Merlin often finds himself appreciating the swiftness of time, as it means it won’t be long until he finds an Arthur he can like again. It also makes him think about lost opportunities, forgotten memories and unspoken truths. He wishes he had known how quickly time moved before, so he could cling onto ever precious moment and appreciate every one before they slipped away.

 

***

 

Arthur is _of course_ a knight at least once in his extra lives. And Merlin becomes his servant _again_ , and they actually get on pretty well right from the start. Arthur is less stuck-up in this reincarnation, and he treats Merlin better. One morning, Arthur’s sitting in bed while Merlin opens the curtains, and he’s gazing at Merlin as though he’s forgetting something important.

‘I had a dream about you.’ He says to break the silence, and Merlin turns to him, one eyebrow raised. ‘Yeah?’ he asks.

Arthur nods slowly, ‘I keep having them,’ he admits, ‘You’re my servant in the dreams too.’

‘Wow, lucky me,’ Merlin drawls, and Arthur throws a pillow at him, because some things never change.

‘It’s an older world though,’ Arthur continues, fiddling with the bed covers, ‘And you have magic.’

‘Really?’ Merlin laughs, and Arthur echoes it, scoffing.

‘Yeah! As if magic actually exists, and that it would be gifted to you!’’ Merlin rolls his eyes fondly, and pulls out clean clothes for the day, while trying to hide the pain lingering in his chest.

 

When they work in the coal mines together Arthur sometimes gets that look in his eyes like he’s trying to figure something out. When Merlin asks about it, he always responds with a non-committal shrug, until one day he says, ‘Merlin, had we met before we started working here?’

Merlin blinks, and tries to ignore the small curl of hope thrumming through his veins, and says, ‘No, we met on the first day, remember?’

Arthur just frowns, and his forehead scrunches up, and then he says, ‘I feel like I’ve known you all of my life.’ Merlin smiles, and his heart feels like it might burst, because this recognition is happening more and more frequently, and maybe (just maybe) that means that he’s getting closer to being _remembered_. Merlin just wants to stop waiting, to see recollection in Arthur’s gaze, and to hear him say ‘Merlin’ in the way he did _before,_ which he’s never managed to quite replicate even with a thousand voices.

 

They fight together in the Trenches. In the mud, and the filth, and the blood. They silently hold each other’s hands before they’re ordered over the top. They share the rare chocolate treats they’re sent from friends back in England. They share a blanket when the frigid wind rips through their shelters. Arthur says one day, ‘It’s always been an honour going into battle with you.’ And Merlin’s mind flashes through Camelot under siege, the Battle of Hastings where a man on the opposing side had calculating blue eyes, the Battle of Bosworth fields where a familiar hand tugged him out of the range of a swinging sword.

‘Always?’ he questions casually, and Arthur suddenly looks confused, and licks his lips.

‘I mean,’ he says, ‘It’s an honour fighting this battle with you.’ Merlin smiles, and nods, and squeezes his shoulder, and wishes he could say _It’s always an honour to be with you_.

It’s the next day that Arthur gets shot and passes away.

 

***

 

Because that’s how life goes. To have life there has to be death. Merlin learnt that a long time ago, when he was merely a boy standing on the Isle of the Blessed facing down a sorceress he didn’t think he had a hope of beating. He would have given his life for Arthur’s that day, and would do the same thing every single day following it, but he can’t. For death has its own ideas – ones that even his powers can’t change. To be allowed to see Arthur in each of his lives, it is only proper that he must see Arthur through many of his deaths as well.

He sees Arthur as a child with the plague no one can cure, choking and crying on a too-small bed. He meets Arthur who’s a thief and ends up getting caught and hanged. He watches Arthur get executed for treason. If Arthur is going to have many lives, he has to have many deaths too. They never get easier. Merlin had once thought that his heart was so battered there was nothing left of it to break, and yet it shatters every time he sees or hear Arthur die again. Every time, he heads back to Avalon, he bows his head to the water, and wishes for _his Arthur_ to just come back. _Just hurry up, you clotpole_.

 

***

 

In the 1970s, Arthur’s in an honest-to-God rock and roll band, and Merlin (after laughing his head off for a good ten minutes at this revelation) obviously becomes their number one fan. He goes to their concerts, gazes up at Arthur’s form on stage, wishes in some ways that he could join him. He meets him when he goes to get his autograph, and then teaches himself about musical instruments so he can become a technician for their shows. Amazingly, it works, and they become friends. Arthur sits next to him on a rickety-old tour bus, with the streetlamps illuminating their faces every few seconds. He slides his fingers between Merlin’s, and squeezes them, and Merlin looks at him, and sees Arthur staring at him.

‘Can I kiss you?’ Arthur asks softly, biting his lip between his teeth, words unfurling into the quiet around them.

‘It’s not allowed,’ Merlin murmurs back, even while moving subconsciously closer to Arthur’s warmth, and while his mind screams _yes yes yes, just hold me, please_.

‘I don’t care,’ Arthur whispers, and they brush lips in the darkness, like it’s a crime or a sin. Merlin has never felt happier, and yet there is still something missing, the way this Arthur just isn’t quite right, isn’t quite the man Merlin originally fell in love with.

 

They’re boyfriends in the early 21st century. They share a flat in which Merlin always uses up too much hot water, or Arthur gets mud on the floor after not taking his shoes off. They drive each other up the wall, and then they snuggle on the couch, or hold hands while they walk down the street. Arthur kisses his forehead when they lie curled together in bed, and Merlin thinks _I have never loved anyone like I’ve loved you_. They are contrasting opposites, and yet together they make a whole – a sentiment Merlin had heard over a millennia ago. In that life they’re allowed to get married, and Arthur stands outside near an arch of roses. He turns around to look at Merlin as he walks down the aisle, and his smile is full of love and hope and happiness, and Merlin lets it fill him with warmth, and he can’t help smiling until his jaw aches for the rest of the day. _One day_ , he thinks _, I’ll do this again with the Arthur I held in my arms all those years ago._ One day, he’ll feel properly whole again.

 

***

 

It’s strange really, Merlin notes. Throughout his life he has met Arthur many, many times. He could barely go ten years without seeing him again, and yet it’s been decades now. Merlin misses him like a repeatedly stabbing pain in his heart, and so he wanders, and mourns the loss of nature, and the loss of his hope, and the loss of his Arthur. His feet subconsciously take him back to the place where it all started, wandering along the new nearby road populated by sleek self-driving cars.

He wanders to the lake edge, where the dirtier, shallower water laps against the bank. The trees stand sentinel over him, gnarled with age as they have escaped the wrath of humanity. His hands are shaking, and he clenches them into fists. His heart is pounding, and he isn’t sure why. He wants to shout to the sky and the vastness of water, wants to plead with the ancient magic surrounding this place. On some level he wants to try and reach Arthur himself, hold himself under the water until there’s no breath in his lungs, so that his soul can join Arthurs, and they can be together for the rest of eternity.

He sits by the lake side, a reflection of the position he has taken millions of times over his long life, and he feels a trembling power in the Earth. The water surface ripples, waves crashing up onto his shoes, and suddenly a head is emerging from the water, followed by a torso, and then legs, and _oh god_. Merlin’s breath catches in his throat, and instantly he’s floundering to his feet, wading into the water, and the man – _blonde hair, blue eyes, red cloak, goddamn chainmail_ – starts struggling his way to the shore. He almost collapses into Arthur’s arms as they meet each other, water swirling around their calves, and Merlin’s face is wet with tears, while Arthur’s eyes are wide in wonderment. Merlin grasps Arthur’s arms tightly, and chokes out, ‘Arthur.’

Arthur smiles at him, and raises a hand to his cheek, wiping away tears, and says – so simply, and so easily, yet with pure reverence - ‘Merlin’.

Merlin is sure his heart might explode, and he laughs in giddy joy, and asks, ‘You remember me?’

And Arthur tilts his head slightly in bemusement, and then pushes their foreheads together, gazing straight into his eyes. ‘Of course, I do,’ he says, ‘How could I ever forget you?’

Merlin giggles, and simultaneously chokes on a sob, and says, ‘I don’t know. I’ve been wondering that for a long time. I’ve been waiting for you.’

Arthur stares deep into him, lips turning up into a smile, and says ‘Well, you don’t have to wait anymore.’ And Merlin, finally, _finally_ , feels complete again.

 

The End.


End file.
